A Hope That Sings

The birthday present came in a UPS jacket, clear bubble-wrap to protect, maybe to disguise. Retrieving the gift from its unique packaging, I wondered at the surprise that lay in store. What could it be? It felt heavy, round. Once I laid eyes on the gift I knew immediately what giving thanks had taught me these past long, arduous months. "Thank you," I managed to tell my husband. Months back, a gray, bleak day in Portland, I found myself staring down Hope in the garden section at Fred Meyer's. My husband who was purchasing a new hose, stood at the cash register when Hope sandwiched me in; between violet pansies and redwood planters. Four jet-black letters etched in round stone, emerald-green hummingbird dressed in glittery sequins, pointy beak taking a drink from cherry-red flower. Hot tears sprang to eyes. I had bolted, darting past my husband, swiping the unexpected wetness from cheeks. Where is my hope? Pain is so hard! I feel sooo alone! Hiding the distress, trying my best to be OK, at trusting and  keeping faith, we drove home, husband with his purchase, me wrestling darkness to the floor-mat. My eyes dried. For days after, I thought about how much I wanted that stepping stone, how much I love hummingbirds, and how my own feeder remained chock-full of sweet nectar, eons since a bird sighting. Blaise Pascal said: "Instead of complaining that God has hidden himself, you should give him thanks for having revealed so much of himself." I spotted the same stone a few weeks ago, the one that ushered in one thousand graces and still counting. Checking the price tag, picking it up and cradling it my hands, I still could not bring myself to buy it, to let go and give an emphatic yes to Hope. Emily Dickenson encourages: "Hope is the thing with feathers, that perches in the soul, and sings the tune without the words, and never stops--at all." I am thinking, by thanking him for all circumstances, for gifts, trials, even failures, courage steps up and paves a path towards Hope.  #1315 Hummingbird stepping stone, silently trilling... Hope does not disappoint, hope does not disappoint, never give up, never give up.

A Secret Message

Ever since receiving the torn sheet of paper, splotches of color, ocean-blue, pink, pale- green, scrawled across one side, I knew it contained a secret message. Surveying my toddler granddaughter's handiwork, sent via snail-mail, I wondered at the marvel of oranges, bright yellows, daughter-in-law's courage, and the simplicity of it all. Tiny hands abandoned in exploration, play and composition. The carefully folded art-piece, sealed and stamped, visible proof the drawing meant more than a child's virgin attempts at creativity. So I waited. Prayer list magnified each day, doubt threatened to destroy faith, and friends and family who are trodding a thousand long days of trials I wanted to cry out, please stop. No more hardship. No more pain. No more crisis. Please. The other day, tracing fingers across picture on refrigerator, pausing to behold, a discovery rifled down to sacred space where questions and prayers remained unanswered, where thick layer of fog blanketed ebbing faith. I thought about what He was saying, not audible words, more of a hush, a stillness that calmed, soothed. Like a deep well stumbled across in the middle of a blistery hot desert, I drank discovery, guzzled all that He revealed, throat coated with damp grace. Could it be? Truly? Colors leaped, danced, those scribbles, disordered blotches of finger-paint, to a grandmother's eyes a beautiful work of art. A masterpiece. This missive, it came upon like a splendid rainbow after late afternoon rain, unexpected, surprisingly. The messy is my means to draw you out, shape and mold, craft you into the beautiful. I use everything to create the masterpiece I know you to be. Each stroke a manifesto, an authentic heartbeat, my omnipresence a guarantee of absolute security. Inhaling slowly, I placed the picture from my granddaughter back on refrigerator, one corner kept in place with  magnet that says "Cherish." Jeanne Zornes said : "God often delays His response out of love, as He works all things together for good." Humbly, I sighed into morning kitchen as I understood, He is right here, in the past, in the future, always, always, drawing with His strong daddy hands, a masterpiece, crafting beautiful from the messy, the hard, and the pain.